High School Sunday
by Queen of the Squares
Summary: Sierra Taylor is accepted into the International Schooling Foundation, located in the Atlantic Ocean as a delegate from America. With her is Alfred F. Jones. However, they soon find out that beneath a sunny exterior, dark secrets lurk... USOCUK
1. Chapter 1

"Sierra! You're going to be late!"

"Sierra! Get your scrawny white ass down here now!"

The calls were simultaneous. Both my parents were super psyched about my acceptance into the International Schooling Foundation. Only two kids from each country from the age 10 and up are allowed to attend so that we can become the next leaders. Anyways, I took the exam and was invited in, along with some kid named Alfred (Don't know him, don't really care to). My younger brother, Skyler, is taking it currently, he's only 13. I, myself, am 15, and would have been accepted earlier, had the school existed at that point in time. It has just been opened, and is one of those really stupid ones with stupid uniforms.

Sighing, I pick up my bags and trek down stairs. Because we're going to be surrounded by individuals from the different nations, the countries have decided that the people from each nation should know each other. Well, today's the day I leave to meet with that Alfred guy. I'm surprised I remembered his first name because his surname is lost on me. I suck at remembering things, like big time. I'm like, "Dude… what's your name again?" and then they're all like, "Da hell is wrong with you girl?" and I'm like, "Shut up stupid puta-bastard-thing!" and yeah.

I'm from Texas.

Anyways, I think the other American is from New York, but I'm not positive…

Damned Yankee.

"Skyler, help your sister," my dad sighs, motioning to my younger brother. I'm slightly jealous of Skyler. I mean, it's not fair that even though he shows no pride in being half Cherokee Indian, he actually looks like it. I don't. Whenever people meet my mom and brother, they're always like, "Yo, Sierra, were you like, adopted?" It's not my fault I'm so white! I hate you dad!

You see, my dad was on a mission trip for his church (Methodism! Woot! Woot!) on a reservation when he met my mom. It was like, sparks big time, yall. So, they kept in contact, and my little brother and I are the spawn of that union.

Skyler comes over and grabs one of my suitcases, "Dear baby Jesus sis, what the hell do you have _in_ here?"

"All my stuff and my uniform."

"Do they only give you one?" he asks, hitting me spontaneously in the face with his long black braid.

"Yeah, and you get more on campus."

"What currency do they use?"

"They made their own. It's not really worth anything, but I guess it's to give us experience in worldly-ness or something."

"That's totally stupid."

"Well, it's not like they need money or anything. They're funded by every country you know."

"Whatever. I don't really care. I just want your room."

"…Thanks."

"Dammit, will you two hurry up? Let's go! We don't have all day!"

And there's my father, with his shining reddish hair and his large blue eyes, you'd be surprised to know that he was in the military. Nothing about him screams "Military Man!" honestly, he gives off that quiet "I work in an office all day and never do anything but somehow I'm super skinny" look. As I said before, I look nothing like my mother, the Cherokee, but like my father. I too have the light red-brown hair, blue eyes and paler skin –not as pale as some, but not as dark as others. I'm –sadly- nowhere near the color of my beautiful mom.

Getting in our old Chevrolet, I buckle up and look out the window at our ranch.

.

Goodbye Texas.

.

A long time later, in the middle of the night, we finally made it to the capital (Washington D.C.) which is where I'll be meeting the Alfred dude. We park in the lot, and step out, hurrying through the doors, up the stairs, and into the meeting room. There I saw a family (Of sorts) just a mother, and her son, who is (to my displeasure) taller than I am. He has sandy blonde hair, that's parted on the side with short bangs and a cowlick where it splits. He does wear glasses, giving him a nerdy look, which is offset by his obvious muscles, and very blue eyes.

"About time you get here! What's up Texas?" he said, grinning at me animatedly.

"Not much Yankee," I reply, rolling my eyes and stepping up to him, "Damn, you're taller than me. No fair!"

"No duh, I'm the hero, and heroes are always the tallest, strongest, and hottest of all men!"

"We'll leave you two to get acquainted…" my mother says softly, "My name is Gwen, by the way, Gwen Taylor, and this is my son, Skyler, and my husband, Stanley."

"Hello, I'm Jennifer Jones, and this is my son, Alfred. It's nice to meet you."

Let me just say, Jennifer Jones is very pretty, like, movie star pretty. She has long blonde hair, tan skin, a slight dusting of freckles sprinkled across her nose, and large blue eyes with long black eye lashes.

"I'm Sierra, by the way," I say, since my mother had forgotten to introduce me.

"What a nice name," Jennifer says, "I think I'll go as well, Alfred, be good."

"Ok Mom, bye," he turns to me, "So, what's your favorite restaurant?"

"_Arboledas,_" I answer, seeing his confused expression, I explain, "It's Mexican. I am Texan after all."

"Ha, I like McDonalds."

"Obviously," I glance over at the stack of burger wrappers lying around then look him over, "What are you? A black hole? You don't gain any weight!"

"Actually, I'm super heavy. You just can't see it, because I'm awesome."

I raise an eyebrow at him, "You can't be serious."

"I am."

"That's crazy."

"What do you think about those lame uniforms?"

"I think they're stupid. I mean really? How cliché is dove gray and blue?"

"You know what they need?"

"What?"

"To be splashed with some good old Red White and Blue!"

"I know! You must be super patriotic."

"No duh, America is the place to be. Especially the Big Apple."

"I think Dallas is better."

"No way."

"Let's not get started, ok Yankee?" I yawn and look at my watch, "You do know it's 3 in the morning right? We have to leave at 4."

"Your point?"

"I'm tired."

"Wuss! I can't believe you're tired! It's like, not even that late and you're like tired! AHAHAHAHA!"

"I'm not _like_ tired, I am tired. And you'd be too if you drove here from Texas."

"I doubt it! I'm super manly and strong, nothing like a girl!"

Rage boiled over at his comment (I'm a supreme feminist). I grab the collar of his white T-shirt and pull his face to mine, "You're pushing it buddy."

"Eh heh heh heh... Sorry," He grins sheepishly at my obvious fury at that sexist remark.

"Now I'm going to sleep._ Don't wake me up!_" I give him the evil eye.

"Yes mam!" He quickly agrees with a salute.

I couldn't help but smirk. I find a patch of ground softer than the rest of the floor in the meeting place and fall asleep to see the Yankee wandering around aimlessly, whistling to himself, and shooting me curious glances.


	2. Chapter 2

Alfred had woken me up that morning to my extreme displeasure and we are currently on a private jet to the Island. I've just got up, I need my sleep, trust me, and now am pondering whether or not to change into my new uniform. The people had taken our bags away and only allowed us to have our toiletries, uniforms, and something to entertain us –you know how we American's can get without our horde of comic books *Pointed look at Alfred*. I myself decided to be the mature one and brought some literature we had to read for English this semester –_Gulliver's Travels_ by Jonathan Swift as well as the book we'll be studying in Battle Strategy –_The Art of War_ by Sun Tzu.

"When are you going to change into your uniform?" I asked Alfred nervously, as far as I knew, he hadn't left his seat from the time we got in the air (I fell asleep shortly after). However, there is a strangely large pile of McDonalds surrounding him.

"…You'll see," he said grinning broadly.

"Ok… Do you think I should change now?"

"If you want to," he said, "And if you see a flight attendant, tell her the hot hero wants a burger."

The way he said it, so nonchalant and off handedly, I couldn't contain my laughter. This guy is really funny, and even though I've only known him for a few hours, I can totally see myself being his friend.

"I'll make sure to do that."

…I actually won't.

* * *

After changing, I stared at myself in the long full-body mirror.

There I stood, my reddish hair tousled, my white collared, button-up shirt hanging around my frame and over my skirt, making only a thin line of blue show. My pleated plaid skirt hugged my hips, curving me in at the sides more than I already did. The base color was blue, a very beautiful and dark azure. The skirt stopped slightly above mid-thigh, making my legs look very long. My feet were encased in flat-bottomed dove gray boots that went up to my knees and had blue buttons on the side, holding them on.

Frowning, I undid the 3 vertical buttons on waist/hip line of my skirt and tucked in my shirt tightly, redoing the fastens and standing back once more to look at myself. I don't know why I'm so nervous, it's not like me to do this, I usually don't care what I look like when I go places. Maybe it's because I don't think I'll be accepted. Back in Texas, I would be made fun of because my accent would come out on occasions. I've got a firm grip, but I can only control it to a certain degree. It's not like I'm magic or anything.

I continued to play with my shirt before brushing my teeth and flossing quickly (Again, something I don't do that often –Flossing that is. I'm a freak about brushing my teeth, I've never skipped out), applying a thin line of eyeliner around my eyes, spritzing on some perfume and looked in the mirror again.

Let me put it this way.

My hair with no brush = rats nest.

My hair right now, it's not brushed. It's frizzy, tangled and sticking up all over the place. I took a brush from the cabinet and started wrestling with the terrible beast that decided to eat my head today. After doing that, I played with it a bit, trying to find a way for it to be down without straightening it (I'm really self-conscious about the curls) before taking the easy way out and going with my normal and simple braid. Ever since I can remember, my mom has braided my hair, her hair, and my brother's hair. She's made us keep it long so we can continue on the tradition of hair braiding within the family. When I was five, she taught me how to braid my own hair, and my brother was the same.

My hair is really long, so she taught me to put it higher on my head, do a braided top-knot thing, and then finish with the actual braid. That way it won't be too far down. Although, right now, it's already almost to the small of my back. I also have a-symmetrical bangs that sweep across my brow and partially covers an eye, however, I don't like my bangs, and what I usually do is meld them into the braid by brushing them back with the rest of my hair, and to hold them, use a headband. The headbands that I usually use are small, black, and elastic (Elastic on the inside with black fabric on the outside) and they work really well, if I use bobby-pins. If not, then they kind of slip of my head –which is why I have a while butt-load of those things.

But, I didn't think to put any in my toiletries bag since I assumed I'd have all of my belongings on the plane with me (Poor planning on my part) and they are stuffed in one of my suitcases with my straightener.

Sighing, I brushed my bangs down into my eyes. However, that just looks stupid, so I shook my head, and flipped them out of my face. Finally content with how I look (Sort of, not really), I walked back into the room with Alfred, sat down and propped my legs up on a footrest.

I looked at the clock then picked up what's left of my breakfast (Toast) and finished eating.

"Damn, it's cold," I muttered, frowning at my empty plate.

"Dude, you take way too long in the bathroom," Alfred commented.

"Shut it Yankee."

"Like seriously," he continued, "Way too long."

"Excuse me for trying to look presentable. I'd rather not be ridiculed by all the other girls at the school if I walk in looking like a hobo with a rats nest on my head!"

"Then why are you wearing makeup?"

"It's just eyeliner!" I said defensively.

"That's weird."

"No it's not!"

"Whatever. I hope they don't serve British food. That stuff sucks ass."

Is food all he cares about?

"Didn't you read the brochure?"

"No. I'm the hero, we don't need to read."

I sighed, "Every month has a different theme from each country. Like this month is Chinese."

"Hell yeah! Chinese food is delicious! What else did it say?"

"That each month in history we'll study a different country."

"Cool! I bet we'll spend the most on America, because America is the place to be!"

Before I could respond, a peal rang out and a female voice spoke over the intercom:

"_Delegates, we will be landing on the International Schooling Foundation runway in 10 minutes. From this moment forward, you are to have no contact with the outside world. Your orientation will happen during 2__nd__ period and will end at dinner. You will be going to your first period however when you leave this vessel. Go there immediately after your departure from here. We have taken your cellular devices and replaced them with special once created only to communicate with those here on this island."_

I glanced uneasily over at Alfred as butterflies mauled my stomach. He wasn't much help or comfort since he's obviously freaked out about what the lady had just said. He turned toward me.

"Is it just me," he started, "or does that sound like something out of a horror movie?"

"They've probably got a good and just reason for not letting us have contact with our family or friends. Besides, we can't get our phones back now and I doubt they have any bars here."

"I guess… but that's still like totally scary dude, like totally scary," he began to ramble, "Like I want to piss my pants scary!"

"I'm sensing something…"

"What…?"

"I'm sensing that you're crazy Yankee!" I said, trying to make him laugh. Alfred's been so happy and so audacious and loud that seeing him distraught is really unnerving.

He didn't help, and I think I made it worse. I frowned, leaning in close to his face.

"Hey," my voice was quiet, "are you ok Yankee?"

He nodded, gulping.

"_The jet has now descended please get off. Your luggage has already been stationed in your dorm rooms. It is time for you to go to your homeroom class with Ms. Rothchild. It is in the Freshman Building, classroom 309 in the English Wing. There you will receive all of your information. You will receive your first payment, a key, and a map so that you can get around. The key will open your new homes, which are beside each other. Each delegate from each country will stay in rooms next to each other. Everyone staying in your apartment complex is either a teacher, or student you will be around for the rest of your time here. Now, depart from the plane. It is 7:04, you have one minute to get to classroom 309. Your time starts now."_

I jumped out of my seat and ran out next to Alfred. For a guy that eats all the time, he sure is fast.

Of course, he's got giant muscles, I guess that helps. But for one as fit as I to barely keep up with him…

I think I found a track star.

* * *

**This story is in a series with Paluszki and Pierogi, Swiss Chocolate (Coming soon), Memoirs of the Wurst (Coming soon), A Summer Rose (Coming Soon), Feline Infatuation (Coming soon), and Remember Me (Coming soon), The Art of the Salsa (Coming Soon), Importance (Coming Soon).**

**To get a sense of what these "Coming soon"'s are, I'll give you a summer of each:**

_**Swiss Chocolate:**_

**Switzerland/OC**

**Summary: **

**After coming to the ISF with her country partner, Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, Jacqueline is overwhelmed with everything –the schedule, the food, the different languages –all the way to trying to make new friends. The teenaged sculptor becomes popular, being friends with one of the Bad Touch Trio has its perks, but she can't seem to get attention from one Swiss boy…**

_**Memoirs of the Wurst:**_

**Germany/OC**

**Summary:**

**Helena is Swedish, having come to the International Schooling Foundation with her partner Berwald Oxenstierna. Her studious demeanor causes her to fall from the popular crowd, but she does find solace when becoming friends with Ludwig, a German delegate. When terrible things start to occur, what will she, Ludwig and her new friends do to stop the uprising?**

_**A Summer Rose:**_

**France/OC**

**Summary:**

**Deep in the woes of being a teenager in the ISF, Natasha Petrova is caught up in the love of her partner, Francis Bonnefoy. Her mind, being focused on the blonde Frenchman, doesn't realize that danger is lurking just around the corner…**

_**Feline Infatuation:**_

**Greece/OC**

**Summary:**

**Siobhan Maguire is Irish, coming to the International Schooling Foundation with her partner, Cabhan Kane. She hates men, having been abused by her father when she was little. The only thing she truly likes is cats –and what guy wants that? When she meets and falls hard for the lazy feline loving Heracles Karpusi. An infatuation has been born.**

_**Remember Me:**_

**Canada/OC**

**Summary:**

**Daina is quiet, a trait that she and her partner, Toris, both possess. Maybe it's a Lithuanian thing, but, even more quiet is one of her desk buddies, Matthew Williams. He's a quiet Canadian, and Daina is convinced that all her really needs is a hug. She decides to try and be his friend, but new, pressing matters occur, casting her into a pit of confusion.**

_**The Art of the Salsa:**_

**Spain/OC**

**Summary:**

**Xanthe is Greek. She's into mythology. Xanthe likes to be calm. Xanthe doesn't like drama. When Antonio Fernandez Carriedo comes into her life, threatening to spice it up like a hot bowl of salsa, her instincts tell her to run. But her heart tells her to stay.**

_**Importance:**_

**Romano/OC**

**Summary:**

**The Danish Renata Vinther isn't popular and she isn't unpopular, she's the happy medium. And she's happy being that happy medium. Her mother's last words to her were, "Be kind, Renata, and try to help people." Then the light faded from her eyes. Renata hadn't ever acted on the words –until now.**


End file.
